


sinners and saints

by cdocks



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Drunk Fic, M/M, fic-a-thon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-12
Updated: 2012-11-12
Packaged: 2017-11-18 11:59:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/560827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cdocks/pseuds/cdocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>cinna/peeta, drink down that gin and kerosene, and come spit off bridges with me (written for the hunger games fic-a-thon back in march '12)</p>
            </blockquote>





	sinners and saints

The brandy in the bottle is melted amber gold in the glimmering lights from the Capitol, up on the roof, gold like sunlight on corrugated tin roofs, gold like the smell of the bakery, gold like blonde hair in two braids and look at the cakes, look how beautiful they are!, gold like those eyes on him, nudging the bottle closer, and his fingers curl around it without thinking.

Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die, right?

It burns going down and he coughs and sputters and wobbles and leans out over the railing, up on the roof, watching the revelers dancing and he hates them. There's an arm sliding around his waist, keeping him from tipping right off (of course there is, because mustn't lose one of the pawns before the game even starts) and he hates that too. 

And the golden eyes are lined with gold too, and he hates it and he loves it and he reaches up to touch, to run callused hands over skin that never blistered from the heat of an oven, that never bore the marks of the only love parents in District 12 can provide, that never shuddered or pulled away, even when he wanted him to, even when he stood on tiptoes and crushed clumsy brandy-flavored lips against a soft, soft mouth that had never longed to kiss a brilliant blazing girl.

And later Peeta wonders, with silken sheets on his back and silken hands working over him and silken words whispered in his ear, and his rough clumsy needy hands clutching and grabbing and digging marks that'll be gone, lasered off, scrubbed away by morning, if he's here because she wouldn't be, if one of the embers the girl on fire left behind is better than nothing.

And then Cinna kisses him and it tastes like gold and luxury and hate and all the wonderful things he'll never have and Peeta stops wondering.


End file.
